


Hall of Sighs

by SyrenGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aggressive Tom, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Head Boy Tom Riddle, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV First Person, POV Hermione Granger, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Tom Riddle, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyrenGrey/pseuds/SyrenGrey
Summary: "Tom —""Hermione," he responded with quiet serenity as if he hadn't just crowded me into a wall. As if I couldn't feel his thigh brush against mine as he pinned me like a trophy."What are you doing?" My words came out in a breath, my voice betraying me as my heart took over my whole being, pounding its warning one drum after the other."Whatever I please, dear."------Lust looms in the shadows of Head Patrol.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 30
Kudos: 474





	Hall of Sighs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnight5776](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight5776/gifts).



> **Please read the tags.**  
>  Gifted to [midnight5776](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight5776/pseuds/midnight5776/works). Thank you for encouraging my Tom thirst. ^-^
> 
> Please do not re-upload my work on other sites/servers without my explicit consent (you can obviously share on things like Facebook or tumblr, but please use the links of my original stories).
> 
> I am responsive so please reach out if you have any questions.
> 
> S  
> 

Tom Marvolo Riddle was an odd boy, even by my standards.

He seemed to transfer here in the middle of Sixth Year without so much as an announcement to our class. Within one month, he'd been granted the title of Prefect and in Seventh Year was picked as Head Boy. Still, I knew very little of him except that he was in Slytherin and he was in more than half my classes. I ascertained his level of intelligence — quite high, given the fact that he, like me, was in Advanced Arithmancy, Alchemy, and a slew of NEWT level courses.

"Do you — speak another language?" I asked, sneaking a glance at my quiet companion as we sauntered through the corridors of Hogwarts castle at night.

"A few, yes," Tom responded. 

Despite our duty as Heads to patrol, he hardly seemed to look anywhere but forward while I diligently scoured the halls in search of students out of bed. It would have been annoying if his effortless relaxation didn't also seem to sway me. 

I'd seen quite a bit of him since the start of our Seventh Year but he was always so _quiet_. So mysterious. Always keeping to himself. Perhaps it was because he was in Slytherin, perhaps it was because he was popular, but during the in-betweens — the silent moments before dinner or quiet walks to our next class — I’d see another side of him: he was utterly alone. 

He seemed to prefer the solitude, even. I could see it in the way his lips would tense when girls would approach with mundane questions to garner his attention, when boys would joke with him to get an acknowledging nod. People flocked to him, but he preferred his books and his silence. The ones he seemed most interested in speaking to were our professors — which, I’ll admit, did seem to grind on my nerves a bit as I had to wait to catch them after class only to find _him_ already engaged in deep discourse.

No, he was very odd. Quite unlike anyone else I'd met.

"Ah, French?" 

"Oui, French." 

"Are you from Beauxbatons, then?" 

He chuckled. I couldn't help but stare. In the months that we'd spent in class after class I hadn't so much as seen him smile, and here he was chuckling.

"No, not Beauxbatons." 

"Oh." I peered at an alcove, ensuring its emptiness. "Did you come from another school then?"

"Yes, you can say that, Hermione." 

The way he said my name — _Hermione_ — like it was familiar to him. Like he'd learned it in several languages and just let it roll off his tongue like honey.

"I've always wanted to learn Italian," I mused. 

Another chuckle. I cast a glance at my fellow Head — Tom. Even in the moonlight, he was handsome. If I was honest with myself, I'd consider the brazen combination of looks and intellect unfair. 

"Yes, I'm sure you have." 

I shot a glance at him. I could hear the edge to his tone, could see the amusement that showed in his cheeks and lip.

"Em, excuse me?"

"If a girl like you wanted to learn Italian, she'd already know it." 

My body halted as my brain caught up. He stopped with me, as though anticipating my movements. 

"Is that all it takes to offend you? I should have been warned." Tom smiled at me, though it didn't reach his eyes. I turned to face him, furrowed my brow to scowl at him but the look he gave me seemed to melt every feeling of offence I had into something else — something warmer. "You could have chosen to take it as a compliment, Hermione." 

"Well, yes, but —"

"Why would you think I'm trying to upset you?" 

"I —I'm not sure," I stammered over the words. It felt stupid — silly to be flustered. But his words were so direct, and tone so clear that it seemed to pierce through me and crumble my defences.

"You're used to men being cruel to you." He tilted his head to the side as if he were merely observing something interesting he'd found in nature. 

"I — “

"Hermione, I wasn't trying to degrade you," he said. His brows lifted, knitting as though a means of conveying his sincerity. He took a step toward me — and I took a step back. 

"It was just that, erm —" 

Gods, why was it so hard to speak? Why did my mind suddenly feel like it was lost in a distant daze? 

"Oh, sweet girl. You're trembling," Tom said, taking another step toward me. I had barely realized how many steps backwards I'd taken before my back collided with the cold wall. "Why? I was merely complimenting your intellect." 

"You were?" The words passed my lips without thought, seeking — _craving_ his validation. As my mind, in all its pride and glory reared its head, I cursed the words as I heard them.

"Of course," Tom's dark hazel gaze lingered on my lips as his body suddenly collided with mine. I heard my gasp, but my body was so mesmerized by him that I hardly registered it as my own. Tom's fingers trailed up my arms and ghosted over my jaw. His eyes remained hovering over my lips. 

I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to _think._

His touch burned into my skin as it trailed — feather-light in its intention but I could feel its very pull as my hairs rose and nerves fired to meet him. 

"Tom —" 

"Hermione," he responded with quiet serenity as if he hadn't just crowded me into a wall. As if I couldn't feel his thigh brush against mine as he pinned me like a trophy. 

"What are you doing?" My words came out in a breath, my voice betraying me as my heart took over my whole being, pounding its warning one drum after the other.

"Whatever I please, dear," he smiled. 

His fingers slipped into my hair before they squeezed and tightened against my scalp. He drug my head back against the wall and his lips hovered over my own before they found mine. None of it felt real — he didn't feel real. I could see the quiet hallways in my periphery before my eyes fell shut. I could feel the cold air against my bare arms, the spots that he hadn't caressed, for that skin burned as though cauterized by his touch. But his lips corrupted me. It sucked the soul out of me, making my heart leap in my chest and willed it to leave my body for him.

The shift was swift.

Sweet melded to sinful. Calm morphed into chaos. Whatever innocence lingered in his kiss seemed to dissipate with my own as his body pressed into mine and he tugged my hair so hard a shriek left me and was swallowed by his mouth. His knee ground between my legs, while his other hand slipped under my wool sweater and trailed up my blouse without warning. 

I would have protested if he wasn't quite so bloody mesmerizing. I hardly knew him, but I wanted to give him everything.

"Tom," I hoped it was a whine — a protest or plea, but it came out as a sigh. A desperate cry for more as his lips trailed down my jaw and over my neck where his teeth found my flesh and grazed, sucked, and nipped without permission or care. 

"You can do so much with that pretty head of yours," he murmured into my skin as his fingers drifted south, "if you have proper guidance."

He lifted my skirt and roughly tugged down my knickers. I could feel the heat radiating from my skin. 

My whole body tensed. Gods, I didn't want this — did I? Not like this. Yes, he was handsome, and interesting, and smart. And yes, his words did something to my stomach and made shivers trickle down my spine, but to be pinned against the wall with the Head Boy's hands shoved down my knickers… 

I gasped. My spine straightened and my moan trailed through the corridor. 

"Oh," I groaned, my head pressed against the wall as his lips made use of my exposed throat. Burning kisses trailed over my flesh as his fingers slowly crawled to the heated apex of my thighs. "Oh God —" 

"Mm," he growled into my throat and I could feel his erection against my thigh, digging into my flesh. "My name is Tom." 

I cried out as he toyed with my clit. His fingertips knew just how to draw the perfect circles there, like I'd done on late nights in the girl's dormitories, in the midst of whimsical fantasy. This didn't feel like that. There was no whimsy, only grit and teeth and my sopping cunt as he toyed with me. Gods, fuck, I wanted him. More than what he was giving me, I wanted. I'd never known a hunger like this.

"Tom!" I cried as two fingers slipped in me; his palm mashed against my clit.

"I've watched you, pretty girl," he trailed hot kisses over my neck as his fingers plunged into me, crooking against a spot that made my knees weak. "Watched that clever brain of yours work, listened to your pretty voice as you insisted on sharing the right answer, seen you — begging for approval. Such sweetness. You don't need them, dove. You don't need any of them." 

I didn't know what it was about him, but my body felt tight as a bowstring, ready for release as his fingers curled and beckoned me. His shoulder slammed me against the wall as his lips sucked freely at my throat, blood vessels surely bursting against his mouth as my whole body melted for him. 

" _I'll_ have you. Join me, be mine," he growled hotly against my flesh, "I'll take — " his fingers found the spot that made me scream, " — good —" he exploited it until I shook, "care — " my cries echoed through the hallways, "of you." 

I shuddered. My whole being seized. Had he pulled away, I would have fallen to the ground I was so weak for him. My lungs stuttered and I leaned forward to press my forehead to his shoulder. He cradled me, fingers slipping gracefully from my trembling body as he brought them to his lips. A new rush of heat flooded through me as he licked his fingers clean, not wasting a drop, before helping me to stand. 

Standing was hard. My knees still buckled, body still quivered.

Still, he took my hand in his.

He guided my weak body. He pressed silent kisses to my temple and whispered pressured promises to me: 

_I'll take care of you. Be mine. Be mine and you'll have everything._

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:**  
>  This is my first time posting a Tomione and a second attempt at writing it, so I'm very new to this pairing. I hope I did okay. _nervous laughter_  
>  Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed this! It means the world to me!  
> Syren  
> \---  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://syrengrey.tumblr.com/) and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/syren.greyy)


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